A Charm of my Own
by Positively 4th Street
Summary: A collection of outtakes from 'A May to December Romance'. Edward's POV. AH.
1. Chapter 1

**Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended. **

**Fandom Fights Tsunami Submission. **

**Beta'd by pixiekat7. Any mistakes are all mine. **

**Playlist:**

**Birdy – Skinny Love**

**Radiohead – Talk Show Host**

**Placebo – Running Up That Hill**

* * *

><p>"Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can."<p>

~ Danny Kaye

_The Remarkable Miss Swan_

_July. Three years previous. _

My whole world felt as though it was collapsing in on me, like some dying star in the far reaching vacuum of space, everything was being sucked into the vortex and destroyed.

How did it come to this?

I closed my eyes and felt a wetness forming beneath my lashes. I continued to swallow down the lump in my throat - my last ditch attempt at keeping myself together. My crystal whiskey glass was holding strong against my crushing grip, refusing to shatter, unlike my life.

I had eagerly opened the doors and welcomed in my self-induced pity party.

I didn't want this.

I never wanted this.

"I think I've got everything for now." She walked back into the room, looking defeated by our situation yet determined to… _go_. She was clutching her Gucci handbag tightly and shifting from one Manolo to the other.

I simply nodded stiffly. I didn't trust myself to articulate much more than that.

"The cab's on its way. I'll be at Irina's if you need to reach me for anything."

I cleared my throat and whispered, "Alright."

Except that it wasn't. None of this was alright, absolutely none of it. Four years were about to be flushed down the toilet and there wasn't a damn thing that I could do about it, because deep down, it was the right thing to do. It hurt to admit that, oh how it hurt, but we _were_ doing the right thing.

I couldn't give her _everything_ that she wanted.

She couldn't be _everything_ that I needed.

It came down to incompatibility… again.

How could two people love each other the way that we did, yet fundamentally be utterly wrong for each other?

God I loved her. It hurt how much I loved her. But I wasn't right for her.

I had given her my heart. I had given her the flashy Mercedes that she had always dreamt of as a teenager. I had given her the apartment on Park Avenue that she had always wanted for her own home. I had given her the lifestyle she craved to live, full of opulence, high society, parties and charity luncheons. I had given her me – rich, successful, able to always support her and make her life a comfortable one full of luxury. In many ways, she had bagged her 'perfect man'. It's what _she_ had always wanted for her life.

Alarm bells had been ringing the day that I met her, admittedly. On the surface she seemed just another one of those 'types', the ones that I studiously tried to ignore. But Kate was different, she had always been different. She was everything that I tried to avoid in a woman and yet she was everything that I wanted.

Because underneath the trappings of wealth and the set up she desired, she had always wanted to be loved. She wanted her perfect life to be a happy one. She was, despite everything that I thought I knew about women like her, a good person. She was so blindingly beautiful, inside and out. Her sweet, caring temperament was captivating and she rarely thought ill of anybody. Friends and family often compared her to that Charlotte character from that God awful Sex and the City series. Kate was a proper New York lady. She was what most would consider 'well bred'. And she'd challenged every perception I'd had, because she was wonderful.

And I knew that she loved me, very much so. I knew that now more than ever because she was about to give it all up and walk away. Kate wasn't about to settle where most others would. Because through the haze of labels and name dropping and high society living, she had very basic wants for her life. Wants that I couldn't give her.

I couldn't give her my undivided attention and time.

I couldn't give her the diamond ring she so desperately wanted resting upon her wedding finger.

I couldn't give her the family she had always seen herself having.

I couldn't give her everything she had always wanted, despite my best efforts to try.

I couldn't make her happy, not in the long run.

Four years we'd been together. Four years and the acceptance over my working commitments had finally waned. Kate wanted a husband to come home to her, a husband to have children with, a husband who would give her all of his time. She wanted her happily ever after.

And I wasn't the man to give her it.

The truth could be a cruel, cruel thing.

We had never argued about it, not really. I think it had become more of a gradual understanding on her part – I just _couldn't_ give her everything.

Marriage had never appealed to me. I lived for my work, it took me to every imaginable corner of the globe and I spent a great deal of time away from home. Marriage was a commitment, a partnership between two people. How could I ever properly commit when I was always leaving? I had seen firsthand the wedge that that tiny slip of paper could cause between couples. My adoptive parents had grown apart over the years because of my father's devotion to his work. What had started out as acceptance on my mother's part had turned into bitterness over time. He was always working, always leaving. She'd thought that would change. Both a husband and wife had responsibilities to uphold, vows and promises to keep. But they are too easily broken when one of the team refuses to give even a little. My father had never been willing to. I wasn't sure I could ever learn to either. I wasn't prepared to take the risk and live with the heartache of having her stay or leave – unhappy either way.

Children admittedly, had played on my mind before. Sometimes I found myself daydreaming about having little ones, but then the doubts would slowly creep in. I suppose a shrink may say that I had abandonment issues. Personally, I liked to believe that like many adopted children, I was simply humanly flawed by my emotions. My mother didn't want me. She gave me away. Was there something wrong with me? Ultimately, I found myself questioning what sort of father I could be when my own family had never kept me. Silly, I know. But there was always that little niggling doubt at the back of my mind, stopping me. If I ever found a way to dull those thoughts, more would form. I worked too much. An absent father made not a good one. And so on and so forth.

I was resigned. I knew what I did and didn't want.

As did Kate, like I said, she wasn't about to settle and she never would. As much as it hurt at the present time, I had to admire that about her.

For all the sense it made for us to go our separate ways, the ache in my heart was nearly unbearable. We were doing the sensible thing; it was the reasonable thing to do. But I still didn't want it to happen. I loved her with every fibre of my being and to watch her walk out of that door was going to cripple me, I knew it.

Was I being selfish? Should I be quashing down my own thoughts and feelings, disregarding them completely so that I could keep her with me?

No. No, I couldn't do that. I may have promised to give her the world and Jesus I had tried, but there would always be things that I was incapable of. Always.

"Edward, are you okay?"

Her concerned tone was nearly my undoing. It would have been so much easier if we hated each other, if we could part with harsh words and difficult terms. Instead, I could do nothing but look on at her with unabashed adoration.

It wasn't fair.

I was losing her.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. I refused to let it all go just yet. "I'll be fine. Do you need some help down with your things?"

It would feel like a torturous kick to the groin, _helping_ her to leave, but I would do it regardless. I always would… for Kate. My Katie. My heart.

She smiled sadly. "No, it's only two suitcases, I'll manage. We can sort the rest of it out some other time, okay?"

I nodded again, though I didn't know why. There was nothing to sort, she could keep it all. I'd never liked any of it.

I hated this building. I hated everything about it. Typical Upper East Side pretention. I hated the area, I hated the _grandeur_, I hated how everything was social status centric instead of feeling comfortably welcoming and most of all I hated the damn beige. I was sick of beige. Everything was beige. Our apartment looked like it had taken its cue from the lobby and corridor and vomited beige. I'd put my foot down when she'd suggested we have my piano – my pride and joy, 'painted to match'.

'Over my dead body', I think had been my eloquent response. It was the only non-beige item within a ten block radius.

But Kate loved it all. She loved the area, the building, the apartment and the beige. It was what she had always wanted and I'd given it to her without complaint. She had worked so hard to perfect it, to make it her dream home. I'd never moaned, not once. Her happiness had always meant everything. If she was expecting a fight over who got to keep what, she'd surely be surprised. I was moving my miserable, beige hating ass as far away from this area as possible. This was _her_ home; I would never take that from her.

The buzzer sounded, alerting us to her cab's arrival.

Things became tense, neither of us knowing what the correct etiquette for, 'I'm leaving but I still love you' type situations was.

"You'll call me if you need anything?" She spoke softly, her words cracking and her eyes beginning to well.

It was too much.

I was torn between wanting the ordeal to be over with already and wanting to lock her in our bedroom… forever.

I stood up and walked over to her, trying to remain strong for the time being, for her. "Of course I will. Let me know that you get there safely, okay?"

She bit her lip and sniffled. "Yes, yes I will. You promise me that you will look after yourself, Edward?"

My smile was tight, forced. I could think of nothing I wanted to do more than sink myself into the bottom of a whiskey bottle and weep. Not that I would ever admit to it.

"I will." I reached out to stroke her lovely, soft cheek. "You take care, Katie D."

Her bottom lip trembled violently. "I love you, Edward."

Her words were received like a knife to the heart.

I had to look away. The pain was crushing, too much for any one man to endure. I didn't want to feel it; I wanted it to go away and never come back. I didn't ever want to experience this… this devastating _weight_ ever again.

"I love you too," I choked hoarsely, staring with blurred eyes at her beige wall.

I refused to watch her go, but I heard everything.

I heard her tearful hiccups as she turned.

I heard the repetitive tapping of her heels as they fell against the marble floor, getting further and further away.

I heard her wheeled suitcases being shifted about and pulled towards her final exit.

I heard the locks being fussed with.

I heard the door opening.

I heard the door closing.

I heard the silence that told me she was finally gone, for good.

But the thing that I heard the most, the one, piercing, agonised cry of frustration I heard the loudest - came from me. It came from inside.

It screamed, _why do they always leave?_

~*AComO*~

_August. Three years later._

"I'm not saying you have to like him," I argued. "I'm asking that you not broadcast your aversion to him to me. Emmett is and always will be a very good friend of mine and I don't want to hear it, Mother."

It was Wednesday afternoon and we were at The Ritz for our mid-week lunch 'date'. I wanted to stab myself with my fork. She hadn't even finished her crab salad yet.

"I don't 'dislike' the man, Edward." She responded haughtily.

I snorted.

That earned me a look that I hadn't seen since I was eight years old and refusing to sit still through some mind numbingly boring awards evening my father had dragged us all to.

My mother straightened in her seat. "Contrary to what you may believe, Edward, I genuinely do _not_ dislike him."

"Right," I said slowly. "He's just not good enough for your daughter, who incidentally, broke into my house – again. I think you should have her tested," I deadpanned.

"She wouldn't be breaking into your house if he could support her properly. And we did, several times."

I felt my eyes hardening. "Emmett can support Rose just fine. It's not his fault she's a vapid, spoiled little brat with zero understanding of boundaries. That's all on you two."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Rose came into this world programmed to be difficult. She always will be, no matter how firm a hand you try and take. She was a master manipulator by the age of six, she made her shrink cry when she was ten and don't even get me started on the teenage years. Your father considered hanging himself numerous times. If Rosalie was a horse, any trainer in their right mind would simply put her down. She will never be broken."

I swiped my napkin across my lips. "Don't you ever get tired of making excuses for her? I know I do."

She shrugged. "It may seem like an excuse to a lot of people, Edward, but it's the truth. Rose has always suited her name. She's interminably pretty to look at, but painfully thorny to handle. She was a horrible child and she's become a nightmare adult. You may lay blame at mine and your father's door all you like for indulging her, but we spoiled her no more than we did you." Her eyebrows arched challengingly as she sipped her Chardonnay.

It was the same old argument. We had received the same treatment and opportunities as children, but we had each turned out very differently. My mother had been spouting the same nature versus nurture bull for years. In my mother's eyes, I'd taken full advantage of my prospects and shined, whereas Rosalie was simply a pre-programmed snot and would remain one for the foreseeable future.

Compelling, no?

"And while we are on the subject, you may think that I am nothing but a snobbish old bat, but I know my daughter, Edward. Emmett, I am sure, would have made the very best husband to a wife more of his own standing. As it is, he and Rose are from very different worlds and polar opposites in nature. That boy sees through rose tinted glasses, pun not intended. Your sister needed to marry a man who saw her for exactly what she is. Instead, she married a man who saw too late. Now when he tries to put his foot down, tries to _change_ her, she reacts the way she always has done. And you wonder why your father and I objected to the match?"

I bristled. "It's not for you to decide who she should be with, Esme."

"Perhaps not," she acquiesced. "But riddle me this, Edward. Are they happy?"

My mouth began forming a yes, but I found myself suddenly biting back my tongue.

Emmett wasn't happy. He hadn't been happy for a long while. Rosalie made his life a living hell ninety-eight percent of the time. She was demanding, uncouth, ill tempered, spoiled, impatient, selfish – the list was endless. She was a snappy little terrier with a nasty bite to boot. She loved him in her own way, I had no doubt. She would never have married a man like Emmett if she didn't. He was the happy go lucky sort who had been brought up on the wrong side of the tracks but managed to make something of himself regardless. Emmett was fundamentally a very simple man. He had everyday dreams and aspirations, he wasn't fazed by power or wealth and he led with his heart, almost to a fault. He had the look of a bad boy, but the heart of a teddy bear. Esme was right to a degree of course, Emmett had 'seen' Rose too late and he was now living with the consequences. She ate him up for breakfast.

As for Rosalie, well… who knew what made her happy. I had pretty much come to the conclusion over the years that as long as everybody else on the planet was miserable, Rose would be on cloud nine blissfully eating caviar and sipping champagne. She may love Emmett, but she would always love herself more.

While my mother could defend her position and claim her protests were a direct result of wanting the very best for her antichrist daughter, there would always be the lingering shame hovering over Esme Cullen's head every time she sat down to play bridge with her friends. And the shame came in the form of now being related to a tattooed, greasy mechanic with a heavy Brooklyn accent. It pissed me off; Emmett was a good man, the best there had ever been. Yet both of my parents were so readily able to dismiss him for being 'not good enough'. The real truth was that Rosalie wasn't good enough for _him_. She was an infliction, not a prize, and I could say that while declaring my _unconditional_ love for my sister.

My family was a prime example of wealth and position equalling sheer prejudiced stupidity.

"Are you and Carlisle happy?" I hit back, cocking my head in a silent challenge all of my own. "You and he were from the same 'standing', as you so put it. Has your wedded life been one of ultimate bliss?"

My mother's eyes frosted. "We are not talking about me and your father. The subject was your sister."

"I think I've made my point nonetheless." I ran a finger across my chin and held her gaze.

We sat in stony silence as the server cleared our plates and topped up our drinks.

"How is Kate? I hear the wedding preparations are coming along nicely." She deflected, obviously knowing that I would continue to press her buttons if she insisted upon pressing mine.

I took a sip of my water and nodded. "She's doing very well, currently in wedding planning heaven. I spoke to her last week; apparently Garrett willingly surrendered his credit card to get out of seating arrangement plans. Poor man."

"And are you still idiotically intent on being a groomsman?"

This again…

"If you are asking whether or not I am still willing to be part of the wedding party, having been asked by two very dear friends, then yes, I am."

"I still think it's strange." Esme scoffed.

My lips thinned. "I… _don't care_. They deserve to be happy and I wish them all the very best."

"Well the whole charade smacks of awkward to me. You were with the woman for four years, Edward." She scrunched up her nose in a manner that suggested she had just smelled something particularly foul.

_Don't kill your mother, she's a good person deep, deep, deep down. _

"The woman's name is Kate and you have been lunching with Carmen for the past three years, quite at your leisure may I add."

"Oh Edward, really!" She scolded. "It's entirely different."

"How so? You're the mother of the man who couldn't give Carmen's daughter everything that she wanted, effectively breaking her heart. And have you or have you not accepted your invitation to attend the wedding yourself?"

I watched as my mother fidgeted in her seat.

"Would you like to continue playing this game or are you prepared to admit defeat and accept that your double standards are preposterous to the extreme?" I checked my watch deliberately to annoy her. "I have to get back to the office, shall we?"

"I don't recall raising a rude, disrespectful son," she snapped, tossing her napkin onto the table and scraping her chair backwards.

"Yet I recall with perfect clarity being raised by a woman filled with silly pretention." I quipped.

"Humph."

I paid the ridiculous bill as Esme smoothed out her pastel blue Chanel suit and nodded proudly to all of the 'right' people still dining within the restaurant.

Honestly, why I still agreed to come to these absurd luncheons was beyond me. It was the same every week and they did nothing for my blood pressure. Nor did my mother, for that matter.

"I'll see you next week," I leant down to quickly kiss her cheek and waved down a cab. "Tell Carlisle I said hello and on the off chance that you hear from Rose, tell her I've invested in a bird eating tarantula. Maybe the threat of one could keep her out of my damn house for a couple of weeks."

She rolled her eyes and tsked. "I will do no such thing. It's your own fault she's in there to begin with."

"And just how do you figure that? Because I said no to Princess Piranha?"

"Because you said yes in the first place, Edward. You can't just give her money every time the boy puts his foot down and then suddenly decide not to."

"Sometimes it's easier to just give in. She's not the easiest person to refuse when she's throwing a fit and smashing _my_ belongings. It's the only thing that seems to _sedate_ her."

"I'm surprised Emmett doesn't have an issue with it. You're undermining him every time you bail her out."

I bit back my laugh. "Esme, Emmett doesn't care where she gets money from so long as it isn't his. He only does it to wind her up, knowing that she'll have to spend hours figuring out whom to turn to. It keeps her out of his hair for a while."

"It's inane and childish!" She seated herself inside the cab and closed the door forcefully.

"And it's exactly what you and Carlisle used to do. She's like a slot machine; she sings when you feed her but flashes angry red lights when you don't." I hit the cabs roof twice. "I'll see you soon. Remember – _bird eating_ tarantula."

She sighed and shook her head, clearly exasperated.

I waited until the cab pulled to a stop further on up the street before making my way to the office. I had another trip to Seattle to plan and I wasn't looking forward to it.

(-)

My inbox pinged and I was grateful for the respite. One of the company's financial planners had made a rather large error while setting out the materials spreadsheets for a new project and we were officially up the creek without a paddle before we had even actually begun.

On the outside I appeared my usual calm, collected self.

Inside I was pitching a fit even Rosalie would be proud of.

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:27PM

_It's that time again, you lucky SOB! _

_I've got something special for you today…_

The idiot finally presented himself. He was getting sloppy. His weekly special was usually sitting waiting for me in my inbox every Monday morning. It was Wednesday afternoon. Perhaps age was starting to catch up with the child.

Rolling my eyes, I hit respond.

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:32PM

_Did you bash your head sometime between Sunday and this afternoon? _

_You're falling behind, Johnston. Shocking. I should fire your incompetent ass. _

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:34PM

_Don't be ridiculous. Nobody else would put up with you. I'm a very good friend. _

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:36PM

_And I'm a very lenient boss. _

_If you ever send me another link to a transvestite's profile page again, I actually will fire you. You were not a good friend last week._

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:39PM

_Aw c'mon! Chastity seemed real friendly! _

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:41PM

_Do it again and I'll be sending Vicky the links to some less friendly male 'chastity' sites, J. _

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:44PM

_I think my balls just shrank five inches. _

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:46PM

_I believe that's the general idea…_

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:48PM

_Ick. _

_We're getting off topic here. You want it or not?_

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:51PM

_I don't think my 'wanting' it has ever been a concern. You're just an infant hell bent on making me twitch. _

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:52PM

_You're going to want to see this one. _

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:53PM

_Why? Do his/her (?) webbed limbs amuse you?_

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:55PM

_No webbed limbs. Promise. And definitely a 'her'. _

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:58PM

_I still can't believe I employ you. Have you done any work today? _

_Oh, and I'm heading back to Seattle on the 22nd. Liam says their site manager's being, and I quote, 'special again'. _

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**03:59PM

_You shitting me? You've already been out there twice to straighten him out! What's he done now?_

**To:** James Johnston

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**04:05PM

_The man's an oaf. I'll be getting rid of him soon. I wouldn't trust him to multitask between making his coffee and toast in the mornings, much less manage a construction site of that magnitude. There are two hundred workers currently struggling to comprehend why the infrastructure's assembly has come to a complete a halt. He can't do the job. Jane's going thorough Seattle résumés now._

_And don't think I didn't note your lack of response to my work query, minion. _

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** James Johnston

**Sent:** August 4

**Time:**04:07PM

_Who you calling a minion, slave driver?_

_I'm sending it on, you can thank me (and Vicky) later. _

_Minion out. _

**See attached link.**

My finger hovered over the mouse, which in turn hovered over the link.

Did I even want to see this?

Probably not.

A part of me, a very small part, could appreciate James' attempts at trying to lighten the mood over my pathetic situation. He'd been a friend, a very dear one, for many years now. But while our running joke had been somewhat amusing on the surface, the majority of the time it did naught but remind me that I was alone and being sent obscure internet page links to trashy blonde leeches or confused he-she's.

I believe the poetically crass term I was looking for was _fuck my life_.

Kate had left a hole in my life, in my heart. I would never deny it, she had. I refused to date anymore. What was the point? They always left. Whether it was because I couldn't give them a ring or because I refused to give them a goldmine, it came down to the same end scenario every time. They walked out of the door and never came back.

I eventually came to the conclusion that it was less painful in the long run to not let anyone walk through the door to begin with.

It was rather a sad way to exist.

I'd had the occasional fling since Kate. It was nice to be reminded of the pleasure the company of a female could bring, I missed it greatly. But as much as it pained me to be alone at times, I could not stomach _that_ feeling again. I didn't want to have to endure the heartache of loving a person who would get up and leave eventually; wearied by the facts they had known all along. As 'understanding' as they always claimed to be over my work commitments, it was always, always what got in the way in the end.

So why bother?

Sighing, I clicked on the link with a roll of my eyes. My desk phone began to chime shrilly and I glanced in its direction, stretching my arm out to the far left side of my desk. I felt the legs of my chair beginning to tilt dangerously just as I managed to brush my fingers across the handset. I wasn't paying enough attention to my actions when I glanced back at the computer screen.

I fell off my chair.

I took the entire phone dock with me.

~*AComO*~

I couldn't stop looking at her.

I'd had the link to her profile page on that despicable site for four days, four whole days. I'd had the necessary and slightly illegal, shortcuts to contact her without leaving a trail now for three. James, presumptuous nuisance that he was, had somehow managed to set it up, I'd asked no questions.

Rendered speechless might have been putting it mildly.

She was stunning.

The picture of her was just… Jesus. I had no words. Utterly captivating.

The setting was beautiful. It almost looked as though it had been taken by a professional photographer. She was evidently at a beach, gazing out at the sea with the most serene smile upon her face. She appeared content and happy. Her silhouetted form glowed against the bright, sunny weathered backdrop and a faint breeze had caught her luscious looking chestnut brown hair just a little, making the ends of it float in midair. I wanted nothing more than to coax her image into turning for me, so that I could see her full profile. It had done nothing but tease me for the past few days. I wanted to _really_ see her.

One of the things that had truly made me beam was her attire. She wasn't sporting racy lingerie or revealing her bodily assets in an attempt to garner attention. She was dressed casually, effortlessly radiant in nothing more than a pair of light blue jeans and a dark blue tank top. The colour offset her flawless, milky skin perfectly and her bare feet were left to toe the sand, her old, well worn looking Converse sneakers had been thrown lazily to the side. She couldn't have looked more… natural. There was nothing overdone about her appearance, nothing that screamed, '_look at me!_' and certainly nothing, how could I put it, daringly lascivious or '_come hither to me_' about the way she was dressed. Yet she was a vision that I refused to look away from.

Most strikingly of all, she had somehow made the tiny snatches of delicate, innocent skin actually on show appear sensual without meaning to. Her bare feet, her tiny hands, her uncovered arms, the flash of her shoulder, her long, exposed neck – they were completely beguiling.

Isabella.

She was so very lovely and yet so entirely out of place on a site like this. I still couldn't understand it.

I read, perhaps for the thousandth time, through her profile.

_**May to December's Profile! NEW USER!**_

**Name**: Isabella

**Age**: 18

**Birthday**: September 13th

**Location**: Washington

**Height**: 5'2"

**Weight**: 105 lbs

**Hair Colour**: Brown

**Eye Colour**: Brown

**Ethnicity**: Caucasian

**Looking for**: Someone to financially support me through four years of college.

**Offering**: To meet the individual's specified needs/wants in return for financial aid.

**Interests: **Reading, writing, cooking, music.

**About Me**:

- I have the opportunity to gain an Ivy League education, or as good as. I have narrowed my choices down to three institutions, all of which are ranked within the National top twelve. Two are based in Chicago and one in New York.

- For reasons that I will not go into, I have no way of financing my studies.

- This is all a little… alien to me. I am, generally speaking, very independent and like to stand on my own two feet. I am not accustomed to having to ask for help. However, my studies mean a great deal to me, and I am determined to obtain my college degree.

- While this is an incredible contradiction of terms, I am not a leech. I do not expect anything in the way of gifts/treats/being spoiled/pampered, etc. I'm quite able to support myself in regard to day to day living; unfortunately, finding $40,000+ for annual tuition is just a little over my head. Fun to be poor, huh? :)

- Other than that, my passion is classic literature, I abhor text speak, enjoy good food, wish I could travel more and am allergic to cats.

_**To contact this user, please click here!**_

Young.

Sensible.

Honest.

Determined.

Markedly bright if what she was saying was true.

So how on earth did a beautiful young woman like her end up _here_?

There were options out there, scholarships, college funds, parental help, personal savings, loans and so on. Some of the options weren't easy to come by, I knew that. But surely there had to be something other than _this_?

She confounded me. I didn't understand. I'd never seen anything like her profile before and James had made sure I'd seen my fair share. I didn't get it.

She'd certainly captured my attention, though I didn't have the faintest idea what to do about that.

~*AComO*~

"It's true," James slapped a large manila envelope onto my desk with an audible snap.

I was going to hell for this.

I swallowed. "What did you find?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's all in there, take a look."

I was a bad man. A very bad man who was most definitely, _definitely_ going to hell.

I cautiously picked up the envelope and slipped the papers inside of it out, scanning the details of the first few pages quickly.

I hoped he hadn't pried too much. I'd only asked for enough to confirm what was already on her page. I didn't want to contact her and expose myself to trouble, should this all turn out to be a silly hoax.

It was frightening how much James could do with a URL.

I felt like the worst human being alive for asking him to do it, but I had to protect myself.

Isabella Marie Swan.

Born September 13th.

Nearly nineteen years old.

Lived in Forks, Washington.

Recently graduated from Forks High School.

Straight A student.

Several college offers made, including Columbia. _Interesting_.

Colleges were still waiting for a response; fees had most definitely not been paid.

I flipped to the next page and felt a stab of anger beginning to rise.

"What the hell is this?" I thrust the paper in James' direction. "I said no more than necessary, J!"

His eyes flashed darkly before he muttered, "Oh believe me, it was necessary…"

"I don't need her…" I glanced at the sheet, "school reports, teacher's observations, school awards, school medical reports… _Christ_, how accident prone can one person be?" My eyes bugged.

That was a long list.

I shook my head, regaining my focus. "What am I supposed to do with all of this?"

He waved me off. "Read on."

I scowled but did as he said.

For several, silent moments my eyes flickered and scanned the words, absorbing and trying to make sense of them.

"The school monitored her?"

James nodded, looking thoroughly agitated. "All of her schools did."

"What do you mean, 'all of her schools'?"

He swiped a hand roughly over his face. "Her parents split when she was a toddler. They alternated years; one had her one year, the other the following. She got moved around a lot."

It took a minute for that to sink in.

Eventually, I shook my head. "Don't be absurd, any child would find that inexorably unsettling."

"Uh huh…"

I suddenly hit a particularly personal report and slammed the paper down onto my desk, face down.

I didn't want to know. It wasn't my _business_ to know. I had already invaded her privacy more than enough by having her basic details confirmed; this was without a doubt a very large step too far. I'd only done it to protect my company and myself. I had what I needed to know to contact her, but enough was enough.

"Makes for some tough reading, doesn't it?" James quipped.

"I don't want to know, I just needed the basics."

"How can you _not_ want to know?"

"Because it's none of my business, James. I'm not about to learn her life story through a paper trail."

"Well, it paints a pretty concise picture of how the poor girl ended up on that site. I swear, if you don't so something to help her, Vicky's sure determined to."

"If I decide to contact Isabella, it'll be for her to choose whether or not to disclose how she came to be on there. I am not taking that decision away from her."

He smirked. "So you are going to contact her then? I mean, it's only been _nine_ days."

I fidgeted in my seat. "I don't know what I'm doing yet."

James snorted. "Liar. Admit it, James did good!"

I pointed to my office door. "Out."

"Edward," he started slowly. "You can do it, it's easy. James. Did. Good."

"Have I fired you already this week?"

"Yes, several times. It's Friday."

"Well then you're fired again as of Monday morning. Get your lazy ass out of my office. And take this with you," I held the wad of papers and the envelope out for him.

"So now wouldn't be the best time to broach the subject of my raise…?" He added cheekily, scratching his chin.

I put on my glasses and logged into my emails. "I'm about to throw something heavy at you," I griped. I had a paper weight somewhere, I know I did.

"You can send my thank you gift basket to the house, you know the address," he snatched the papers from my hand and strutted towards the door. "We'll talk raises later."

I picked up my stapler threateningly and turned just in time to see him bolt from my office. Jane entered soon after, questioning why I still allowed 'the man-child' to work here with the adults.

I didn't have an answer for her. My only one, clear thought for the rest of the day, was _Isabella_.

~*AComO*~

Isabella Swan was a total enigma, and I needed to figure her out. The young woman had bewitched me, utterly and completely.

Twelve days after receiving the email from James, I'd finally bitten. I had to know.

I responded to her page.

What I received back from her was intelligent, witty and tantalisingly refreshing.

I believe the saying is hook, line _and sinker_.

Every sentence, every slice of information, every brief window into her person was devilishly addictive. I needed, wanted and craved more.

James' ego had soared, of course. Everyone in the office was suffering.

But she was like nothing I had ever come up against before. She was sweet and humble and so awkward. Yet determined. And feisty. And willing to do whatever it took.

I thought about her incessantly.

I found myself both sympathising with Isabella's situation and admiring her tenacity to get through it. She hadn't had it easy, that much was evident. Yet she was still going, still pushing.

I hadn't felt this _interested_ in a woman since Kate.

It shocked me.

Most shockingly of all though, I didn't feel worried about _taking_ an interest.

Every woman I'd met over the past three years had drawn up my red flag.

Conceited.

Selfish.

Stuck-up.

Desperate.

_Gold-digger. _

The irony was not lost on me. I was fending off leeches on a weekly basis with my imaginary fly swatter and here I was, exchanging emails with a woman from a Sugar Daddy website.

Poetic, wasn't it?

She wasn't like them though. Isabella was unfortunately marred by her circumstances and reaching out for help, she needed somebody to throw her a line. She was not some tasteless, label loving little girl who wanted pampered. She was wise for her young years, sensible, logical even. When options A, B and C were all shot down, she recognised that she didn't want to be left with option D only - loans. She could have applied; she would most likely have been granted them. She would also have spent the better part of her life seriously in debt and paying them off. An Ivy League education didn't come cheap. At twenty-two, she would be at least $160,000 in arrears for tuition fees alone.

While a lot of people took that option regardless, Isabella didn't want to. That was _her_ choice. She wanted to study English – her one true passion. But English was a degree where, generally speaking, a post graduate degree would also be needed to really do anything with it. More loans. More expense. More debt. Would she ever manage to pull herself out of the red? Would she ever be able to enjoy her studies with the lingering restlessness of knowing how financially sore she was? She was most certainly not a stupid woman and while her actions may have seemed strange to some, ludicrous even, I found myself having the upmost respect for her determined way of thinking. I found that I neither agreed nor disagreed with her decision to effectively pimp herself out to fund her education. Instead I had a morbid sort of admiration for her, for doing it _her_ way.

I thought she was remarkable.

~*AComO*~

An opportunity had presented itself and like a great white shark, I was swimming the waters and ready to snap at it. It was almost too good to pass up.

My lawyer thought I'd officially gone insane. I paid him well to look past such trifles.

Isabella Swan needed help, and I was in a position to give it to her. It just so happened however, that she was in a position to give me something back, something that I had never really had before, something that I'd always been searching for.

"How are you feeling?" Vicky asked worriedly for the twelfth time.

"Good, nervous." I responded, holding my blackberry between my ear and shoulder as I rolled up my sleeves.

I was making my way through the reception area of The Edgewater Hotel in Seattle. I'd had quite a day of it. Resisting the urge to choke ignoramuses was a trying ordeal. The project was behind schedule, running well over budget and there were too many morons to count working on that site. I didn't have long to correct it all, but I was going to. I would not have my company being made a mockery of.

"Is she there yet?"

"I'm about to find out," I strode up toward the desk and greeted Heidi with a smile. "Has Miss Swan arrived?"

The blonde responded with what I suspected was meant to me a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes and beamed. "Yes, Mr. Cullen. She's waiting for you in your suite."

Vicky made some rather bizarre toddler sounding gurgle-giggle.

I nodded to Heidi and walked to the elevator.

"Now, are you absolutely sure that you want to go through with this?" I could just imagine Victoria placing her hands on her hips and pursing her lips.

"Well if I wasn't, then I've just wasted rather a lot of money paying my lawyer."

"Don't you go getting all sarcastic with me, Cullen. I'm just making sure that you're alright."

I shook my head and smiled. "I'm fine, really."

I couldn't wait to see her.

I'd internally kicked myself over and over again for not responding to Isabella sooner, because before I knew what was really happening, I was calling in favours at Columbia to extend her acceptance deadline, asking if she would like to meet and having papers drawn up. It all happened so very quickly. But what else could I do? I wasn't prepared to let her slip by me. I _had_ to meet her.

Victoria had asked if her age presented a problem. But truthfully, I didn't see her age. I saw an extraordinary young lady who could quite literally have the world at her feet. I saw aptitude, a sharp wit, a rare, innocent shyness and an aversion to materialism that I was unaccustomed to.

I saw Isabella Swan. And she fascinated me.

'Want' had most definitely become word of the week.

The elevator 'dinged', announcing its arrival and I bid a hasty goodbye to Vicky. Her parting 'good luck!' had all but perforated my eardrum.

The ride up to my floor was slow; my heart was hammering out a staccato and the nervous anticipation free flowing through my veins tingled. I wanted this to go well, for both of us.

Was it possible to feel so encumbered by a person you'd never met? Everything about Isabella so far had me enraptured.

I would never forget the first time that I heard her voice, it sounded, quite literally, like bells. Softly tolling bells that sang my name and carried her laugh. Enchanting.

I would never forget how hopeful she seemed at the prospect of me helping her, almost as if being offered a hand in this life was a rarity for her.

I would never forget hearing her lie to me for the very first time earlier on today. I'd had to bite my lip and play along for fear of embarrassing her. I had to wonder if she would ever actually admit to not knowing how to work GPS.

I would never forget the elation I felt knowing that I would have a companion to eat dinner with tonight, instead of dining alone.

But most importantly of all, I would never forget seeing her for the first time as I walked through the entrance door to my suite and caught a glimpse of her out on the balcony.

I felt like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.

Even with her back to me, she was perfect.

Two thoughts shot straight into my mind.

The first?

_I'm in trouble. _

The second?

_But at least she won't leave me if I can get her to sign._


	2. Chapter 2

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Fandom for Leukaemia and Lymphoma Society Submission.**

**Beta'd by pixiekat7. All mistakes are mine. **

**Warm, loving thanks to Caroline81 for her beautiful banner work.**

**Chapter song: Placebo – Sleeping With Ghosts.**

**Summary: EPOV outtake from _A May to December Romance_, (part of) chapter 14.**

**I would strongly advise that everyone reads this outtake fully before continuing on with AMtDR.**

* * *

><p>"How much has to be explored and discarded before reaching the naked flesh of feeling."<p>

~ Claude Debussy

_The Damaged Miss Swan_

The words were lobbying against me, a collective decision being made to jump from the pages and crush the area of my chest surrounding my heart. I snapped the file closed, shoving it violently to the farthest corner of my desk. Still, the words taunted me, spilling and seeping through the manila folder and ingraining fresh black ink into its surface. I could still see them; hear them, mocking and demanding remembrance. All I wanted to do was forget. But they would not stand to be forgotten and sadly, I doubted my ability to bury them, hide them away and pretend that they didn't exist.

Informative though they had been, I felt ill. The queasiness rolling around in the pit of stomach was very nearly painful and I suspected there was no pill available to squash what I was currently feeling.

I was lost. The jigsaw puzzle suddenly had all of its pieces, I could see the patterns and determine where to place what, I could now distinguish which pieces needed to be connected to join the others up, but I was lost. So utterly, utterly lost.

I raked my hands over my face and back up to my hair, feeling the _thump_, _thump_, _thump_ of my gradually building headache beating against the underside of my palms. Said palms felt sweaty, dampened from the guilt and shame of prying where I really had no business to pry. I'd vowed to myself to never look, to let her come to me with this when and if she ever felt ready. But having read what I'd just read, I now doubted that she would ever _be_ ready. Isabella's denial had carried her through a lonely life for nearly nineteen years, why break the habit of a lifetime and suddenly decide to talk?

"I told you it wasn't pleasant reading," James said softly from across the room.

I startled upon hearing him, having forgotten his lingering presence in my large office. As I glanced toward him, I felt my stomach twist and knot, a pretzel of unease.

_Emotional intolerance. _

_Apathy toward others. _

_Inability to connect. _

"I didn't realise how… _bad_…" I shook my head, misery lashing at my insides and churning them into pulverised mush. "I didn't think it was so…" Words just failed me. I had none – there were none. Not for this.

"Edward, you couldn't have known."

"I should have," I countered swiftly. "The signs are all there."

_Social dysfunction. _

_A disturbing sense of familial denial._

"Sometimes, Edward." James stated calmly. "Sometimes they're there. Not always."

I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear it. I should've seen it, all of it. Instead, I'd observed the hints and lazily taken guesses. I'd been arrogant to assume that I had enough information, stupid to think that I could solve it all by simply removing her from a damaging environment.

Oh Edward, you damn fool!

It was so much worse than I could ever have imagined.

"Don't even go there," James stood up, stalking toward my desk with a sharp, knowing look in his eyes. "I have no problem pummelling your ass into seeing sense, Cullen. Bella's troubles aren't your fault; you're doing what you can to help her. That's what counts. Leave the guilt trip out of the equation, there's no room for it."

_A loner._

_A determined will to be her own parent._

The image of her sound asleep in bed last night raced to the forefront of my mind. She was beauty personified, yet innocence incarnate. Her thick, richly scented locks had fanned out in stark contrast against the white, pillowed backdrop. Her delicate looking frame was curled in on itself, making her appear all the more younger, smaller and breakable. Her breaths had been slow and easy, the occasional sweet murmur leaving her full lips for the darkened room to greedily swallow whole. But I'd been there too. I'd heard and caught them all. She was just… lovely. There was no other way to describe the scene I'd come home to. It was serenely captivating and I'd done nothing but watch her closely all night. I'd found peace in the late evening's tranquil observation of an enchanting young woman, only to experience hell in the early hours of this morning as she roused from her slumber. And now, now I was struggling, because for the life of me I couldn't figure out who would ever, _ever_ want to hurt her – the beautiful Swan with the ugly duckling complex.

_Isolates herself. _

_Contradictory behaviours. _

_Extremely detached, unloving to a degree. _

"I don't know what to do," I whispered honestly, defeated. "I don't know what to do."

It was all right. Everything that file reported, every observation, every analysis, every documented instance, it was all Bella. Her life, her character, her deprivation, it was all there in a matter of pages. It sickened me but I couldn't deny the truth written on those papers. They captured the personality of a forgotten about, dispossessed little girl right through adolescence to early adulthood, perfectly.

_Has a warped sense of right and wrong. _

_Refusal to discuss anything emotion centric. _

_Mistrustful. _

Despair, I think, was the term I was looking for.

"Edward, she'll get better with-"

"She's not sick!" I snapped, cutting him off harshly. "Eighteen years of neglect and keeping everyone out does not an ailment make! This isn't the Goddamn flu, Jay; she isn't going to magically recover with chicken soup and plenty of bed rest!"

He held up his hands, palms turned toward me in a surrendering gesture. "I didn't mean to imply that Bella was sick. I just meant that, hopefully, things will improve now that she's here."

"And what if they don't?"

Loathe as I was to admit it, I had to be realistic. The file didn't paint a pretty picture. There was a good chance Bella would always be affected, somehow or other. Ridiculous as it seemed, I couldn't help but think of a chocolate bar that had been left out in the sun a little too long. You know that when you find it, it will have melted. The wrapper looks perfectly fine, but its insides have been damaged by a force much bigger and stronger. But you also know that the sweet goodness is still there. Inside, it may be a puddle of its former self, but your reasons for choosing it haven't changed. It will still bring you the same amount of joy to have it, to savour it. The only difference now is how you handle it. It's no longer as simple as you thought it would be to peel the wrapper away, it needs a little more thought now, a little more care before you can enjoy it to the fullest. Unfortunately, the end outcome will be a messy one… and you now know that going in. For better or worse, remains to be seen.

"Edward, you can't think like that."

I chuckled humourlessly, swiping a hand over my tired eyes.

_Demonstrating early signs of Haphephobic tendencies. _

'_Burning' skin sensation when touched. _

_Avoids any and all physical contact. _

Haphephobia.

My God.

If it wasn't for the fact that Rosalie had gone through a stage during her infancy where she'd screamed bloody murder each and every time a person touched her, I surely would've needed to Google the term. As it was, five years of observing my sister's torment and a multitude of intensive therapies later meant that I was more than a little acquainted with the word's meaning.

Oh Bella.

Incident report after incident report documented the hysterics that had followed every schoolyard bump, every classroom brush, every touch from the school nurse when cleaning a cut and every handling whenever she fell over and needed to be picked back up again. And they all ended the same way – _'Became calm and skipped off happily when physical contact ceased.' _

The final report was dated just eight months previous, during a biology class presentation. The teacher had given her a 'well done' pat on the shoulder as she concluded her findings, but the shock from the innocent touch had been so intense that she'd jumped backward, tripped and landed on a front desk full of glass vials and petri dishes set out as part of an experiment. She'd declined a pass to the nurse's office, despite the bleeding lacerations to her arms. According to the account, a group of Bella's peers reportedly found her in the bathroom that lunchtime, plucking out the remnants of glass imbedded in her skin. She'd refused any treatment or aid. Bella didn't want to be touched, helped… noticed.

The weight of her desperate situation crashed down upon me like a heavy, unforgiving lead mass. Just how unhappy does a person have to be with their own lot in life to risk four years of perpetual burning, simply to fund their education and escape the confines of life as they'd always known it? I'd had a warped sense of admiration for Bella's decisions; she'd shown initiative in a highly unorthodox way and a stubborn determination to do what she had to do to succeed. It was baffling really, given how introverted and quiet she was. But now, now I wasn't so sure I could admire her choice. Instead, I found myself pitying it. Bella Swan had been prepared to endure four years of self-inflicted suffering, all for her education, all for her escape. Did she even see it that way? Was she even aware of the torment she'd set herself up for, or was she so far gone with twisted acceptance that she hadn't even factored it in?

"She could've ended up with some slime…" It didn't even bear thinking about. The thought of her in constant pain, being mauled by some sinister, much older man with disgusting 'needs' made my hands shake with revulsion. For all her intelligence, there was a childlike naivety to Bella. She needed to be protected, cherished. She was pure and precious where others were marred. The what if's were inconceivable. "Someone who would've hurt her."

"But she didn't."

"But she could have."

"But she didn't, Edward. She's here, in New York, with you, safe and happy."

"Is she?" I thought back on every conversation I'd ever had with her, every touch and kiss that we'd shared so far. Had _I_ hurt Bella? Oh Christ, _had I?_

I turned my disgust in on myself, the mere thought of causing her any harm instantly nauseating. I'd given her a contract based on what I thought would benefit us both, but ultimately, it was more suited to my own needs. Had I sealed her into something that was damaging her further? Was I forcing Bella to… _burn?_

"What if I'm hurting her?"

"You're not."

I glared icily at James from across the desk, his almost bored sounding tone grating on my already frayed nerves. "How do you know that?"

"I have eyes."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I have eyes, Edward. You think any of us would've simply stood back and watched you make her uncomfortable without saying a Goddamn word? There's a reason Emmett and I keep our distance around Bella, especially in a physical sense. We don't want to be yet another source of stress for her."

"Neither do I!"

He groaned, slumping into the chair opposite me. "You know, I didn't tell you to, 'Be careful' before you went to Seattle for no reason. You're not oblivious, Ed, you might not have had all the information, but you sensed something was off from the start. The minute you saw her profile, you started questioning how someone like Bella ended up where she did. You've always known the picture wasn't simply black and white." He sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "You've been good for her, don't doubt yourself."

"I don't want to hurt her."

"You're not hurting her."

"But the file says th-"

"The file shows just how much hurt she's had to deal with in the past and the mistrust that's stemmed from it." He cut in. "You haven't given Bella any reason not to trust you. You went in and swept her off her feet like the infuriating white knight you've always been, making the rest of the male population look like mere peasants in comparison. Thanks for that, by the way. Vicky's starting to question why I don't buy her Tiffany jewellery, '_that often!_' You owe me a raise, asshole." He narrowed his eyes, scowling. "I digress. The bottom line is, while Bella's going to struggle with the new scenery, she trusts you enough to make it prettier than the bleak landscape she came from. Know what I'm saying?"

Yes. Yes, I knew. Though it didn't help. Nothing would help. I'd had a glimpse into Bella's life, from preschool all the way through to high school, and what I'd read _hurt_. I knew it hadn't been sunshine and rainbows; I wasn't so ignorant to the situation to believe that she'd had it easy, but I hadn't expected it to be so cutting.

Those written documents spoke of a little girl who went to school always hungry, who had no pre-packed lunch and no lunch money to sate a growling stomach. Her schools eventually set aside some emergency funds every year to ensure she could eat a hot meal come lunchtime. Teachers gave testimonies of a smaller Bella walking home all by herself, at ridiculously young ages and despite the distance, come wind, rain or snow. Librarians told of a slightly older Bella always hanging back after school to read or do homework, she wasn't 'allowed' to go straight home to her mother's house and disturb her while she had 'company'. She didn't ever go on any fieldtrips or school holidays, she didn't have any friends and she was often the target of bullying. She was an inexplicably clumsy child, on average needing to go to the emergency room at least once or twice a month. This only served as another source of teasing from her peers. Her parents never showed up for school events or parent teacher conferences, never came to hear just how extraordinarily bright their child was.

Child protective Services had stepped in twice, once while she was at her mother's and once at her father's. They'd determined that while her homes may not have been particularly _loving_, she was safe and well. There was no cause to remove her, despite her schools' fears. They'd described Bella as an overly capable child who took responsibility for herself, detailed that she was remarkably bright and evidently so, wrote that while quiet and shy, she was astute beyond her years and incredibly sharp, but perhaps most bizarrely of all, they'd documented that Bella seemed happy and somewhat content in her life.

At seven years old, a social worker had asked Bella if she liked living with her mommy. The response? _'You mean my mother?'_

The seemingly small and insignificant formality was not lost on the social worker. It wasn't lost on me either. There was a level of detachment that positively screamed its way free of those four small words. At just seven years old, Bella had denied her parent any shred of caring familiarity, opting instead to remain aloof with acquaintance. And the worst thing about it seemed to be that Bella's Mom genuinely didn't concern herself with it.

Case workers had described Mrs. Swan as unfeeling. Her attitude toward Bella had been palpably cold, her attitude toward parenting bordering ennui. She made no effort to put on false pretences; she was unfailingly honest in regard to her apathy for her little girl. Reading through the reports' notes, it was now crystal clear to me where Bella's social attitudes and ineptness had originally stemmed from. She'd adopted certain traits from her parents, but implemented them not just against her own family, but against the entire world. She was not cared for and consequently, Bella now had a hard time knowing _how_ to care for others at all.

CPS found themselves in a predicament. Did they remove her, unsettle and up root her life only to place her into a foster care system that realistically, would've been more damaging than not, all because her parents didn't hug and praise her enough? Or, did they leave her; allow her to stay in an environment that admittedly, wasn't a Suzie Homemaker ideal, but one that she seemed perfectly content in? Heartbreaking as it was to acknowledge, they'd made the right decision. Bella would never have survived in the system. She was too passive, too closed off. If there was a problem, she'd never have told anyone about it. But she was also smart, she did fantastically well at school. Would that have continued if they'd removed her?

No, I didn't think so. Why take the gamble and turn a Matild... into an Oliver?

I sighed, throwing my head back against my chair and enjoying the tight stretch in my neck that followed.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

"Edward?"

I closed my eyes. "Yeah?"

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, why the sudden need to look? You were adamant before about not wanting to know. What changed?"

I snorted.

I tensed.

I opened my eyes.

Where did I even begin?

~*AComO*~

_Hours earlier…_

My insides… _shrivelled_.

I'd heard that wrong.

I had to have heard that wrong.

But as the words continued to spiral and whisper and thrum within my mind, I knew that I had, in actual fact, heard correctly. And I realised then, that while the words had taken definite aim and punched me in the gut, it wasn't the statement that'd had the most profound effect on me. No, not the words.

"_Well, my mother used to tell me that I was a mistake."_

Jesus Christ.

She could have sprouted off a shopping list for all the emotion she'd injected into such a heartbreaking revelation. There was just nothing. No sadness, no hurt, not even a trace of anger. There was merely bland acceptance and the hint of an eye roll. She was so devastatingly offhand about it and I was suddenly thrust into something much bigger than I felt capable of handling. I mean, how do you react to an admission like that?

"_Pancakes now?"_ And there was her spark, her lively character. There was hope and a smile and optimism. Over pancakes. Goddamn _pancakes_!

I could feel my face morphing into an expressive, horror filled flipbook animation as second by second, blink by blink, the disgust rearing up inside of me became more and more pronounced. And I could see the effect it had on her. I could see her awkwardness beginning to bubble beneath the surface, though I was struggling to reel in my emotions and put a stop to it. I watched as she went somewhere I had no access, watched as she retreated into her own mind and struggled with whatever battle she'd begun internally waging war with.

Still, I could do nothing but whisper an appalled, "Bella…"

Odd. She'd said that her parents were, 'odd people'. _Odd_.

I wanted to laugh, though there was no hilarity in the situation. None what so ever.

There had been hints of a strained relationship, certain things that I'd managed to pick up myself, things that told me her childhood hadn't been your averagely happy one. I certainly hadn't imagined a doting Father teaching a younger Bella to ride her bike through a sea of crispy orange leaves on a warm, autumn afternoon. I didn't picture a loving Mother baking cookies with her toddler or cuddling up on the sofa with her teenage daughter the first time a boy broke her heart. Instead, I'd imagined a young girl who had perhaps spent a little too much time alone while growing up. I'd mentally envisioned a stubbornly focussed little girl teaching herself to ride her own bike despite the cuts and scrapes she kept inflicting upon her poor hands and knees. I saw a smaller Bella covered in flour and biting her lip as she taught herself how to bake cookies, without any help. I'd visualised a teenager who'd been much too shy and introverted to ever allow a boy to break her heart, instead settling to live through the romantic notions of the characters she loved to read about so much in books.

But never, and I mean never, had I thought that the level of depravation she'd experienced reached to such despicably low planes.

What kind of Mother would ever say such a thing?

"What?" She frowned, oblivious and nervous in her fidgeting. "Stop looking at me like that."

She pulled her towel tighter around her small frame, clearly uncomfortable as I tried to blink the astonishment from my eyes.

"How… what…" I shook my head, lost by her reaction. "How can you admit to something like that and be so calm?"

Why I asked, I wasn't sure. Bella's reactions were often unexpected, especially when it came to anything that warranted an emotional or personal response.

"Well, how should I be?" She shot at me, desperately trying to avoid my gaze.

I felt sick, queasy.

She didn't understand.

I opened my mouth to answer, to tell her that a 'normal' reaction would be one of anger, of hurt, hell; I'd even take some tears. I would hate to see them spill but I'd do my damndest to chase them away, to offer her some comfort, some compassion, tell her that I'd make it all alright – I would _put_ it right for her.

But I snapped my mouth closed. I stayed quiet.

Bella wasn't angry or hurt; there were no tears to shed. She didn't want my comfort or my compassion; she wouldn't know what to do with either. Bella didn't have a 'normal' reaction to give because she wasn't a 'normal' woman who'd had a 'normal' upbringing.

Bella had grown up with her own version of normal.

Her version sickened me.

"Will you please stop looking at me like that? Jesus…" She made a point of staring at the wall, her gaze far removed from my own.

The silence in the room was deafening. The blood was pumping furiously in my ears as my outward stance became still and statue-like, though my internal ire scorched and ignited.

I saw her then, bruised from yesterday's events and yet still trying to put on a brave face. But beneath that mask was a vulnerability that called to me, dousing my emotions in gasoline scented sorrow and fuelling the burn around my heart all the more.

What had they done to this beautiful creature?

They were supposed to love her, cherish and protect her from all the misery in this world, not inflict it tenfold upon her themselves – not turn her into a person who reminisces about the cruel, callous behaviour bestowed upon her with such bored, insipid _acceptance_.

"Can I go now?"

I swallowed, rendered mute but for a whispered, "Yes."

She walked past me, cagey and timid in her actions, before closing the door to our bathroom behind her.

I must have stood there a full five minutes, staring, questioning, lost. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to fix this, how to fix her.

I had struggled my whole life with the questions I desperately wanted to ask my birth Mother. Why wasn't I good enough to keep? Was there something wrong with me? But the element of the unanswered suddenly felt like a gift. I was left ignorant in my unknowing, but Bella, she'd been given the ultimate answer to questions she'd likely never even asked – did you plan for me and was I wanted? The answer awarded to these unspoken questions seemed to be a very clear, highly damaging, 'no'. And she'd lived with that no, for how long, I wasn't sure. Regardless, Bella had carried that burden around.

Shaking my head in despair, I collected up my laptop and Blackberry and left her room, shutting the door silently. I dumped the items onto my undisturbed bed and sagged down onto the mattress, clawing my fingernails across my face. I didn't know what to do.

There had been so many signals, so many warning signs. Christ, I'd pretty much pegged Bella as a wounded soul type back in Seattle and while I hadn't ignored the silently buried injuries, I hadn't done very much about them either. I'd always understood to a degree, but I was only just feeling as though I was finally grasping 'it'. Her avoidance to discuss her family in any real capacity, their refusal to help her finance her studies in any way, her admission of not speaking with her mother for quite some time, the evident awkwardness that radiated off of Bella whenever a compliment was made or affection was shown. They were all alarm bells. Stupidly, I'd thought removing her from that environment would help, that it would make things better for her. And perhaps it had, a little. But now there was something infinitely more delicate to identify and I wasn't sure what steps to take from here. Was there any way of making it better for her? Would Bella ever be able to get over it? Emotional scars ran deep, but just how vast were the wounds that had initially inflicted them?

James and Vicky had been adamant about helping her, beyond adamant. They'd seen more of Bella's past documented on paper than I had and there was something there that had left them both reeling. I'd refused to go there, to look and pry like that. It wasn't for me to know. Bella would come to me if and when she felt ready, or so I'd thought. Now, I was beginning to doubt that. She was too closed off. James and Vicky had the answers that I didn't.

And suddenly there it was. My conflict.

I couldn't betray Bella's trust that way. For whatever reason, the young woman now living in my house had somehow found her way into my life, my heart. I wasn't about to shit on good fortune, was I? In such a short space of time, I'd come to feel so much for her. I wasn't a silly romantic; I'd viewed this predominantly from a logical point of view. We were both benefiting from the arrangement we'd set up. But so help me God, I cared for the beautifully damaged girl. I truly did. And I didn't want to hurt her. But it was suddenly looking like hurting her in this small way was the only way to try and, I don't know, save her? I'd taken the first step of rescue by moving her, but now that I had her here, how did I peel her out of her shell? How did I make her see that goldmine of worth locked away within herself?

_Not by staying ignorant… _

Lord, I couldn't believe I was actually considering it.

If I looked, I'd have to tell her. Of course I would. And she'd probably hate me for it. But if I didn't look, if I remained unaware of the finer details, I still risked hurting her. I couldn't and didn't understand Bella's core reactions to most things, yesterday being a prime example. But if the file James had put together could shed a little light, perhaps I could attune myself with Bella's way of thinking, maybe I'd understand better, rather than playing this blind leading the blind tug-of-war.

Was I willing to take the risk?

My hand snaking across the sheets and toward my cell told me that yes, I was. I had to know. I would deal with the consequences and I would do my utmost to make things right. I had to know.

My finger nervously punched in James' speed dial number and with a shaky breath, I brought the phone to my ear.

_Please don't hate me, Bella. _

It rang and rang and rang some more, and just as I was about to end the call and dial again, the ringing finally stopped. I mentally counted to twenty-nine seconds before any shred of human life on the other end of the line made itself known.

Exhaustedly, James answered, "Ma, I can't do shit about your damn shingles! Try another heating pad."

I frowned, holding the phone away from my face, only to mutter a silent, '_What?_' into the empty space around me.

"It's Edward, you oaf."

"Eh?"

The snore that followed pretty much had me convinced. Emmett, the grease smeared mechanic with the heavy Brooklyn accent, was definitely the more refined of the two.

"It's Edward," I enunciated slowly.

I was awarded a throaty phlegm rattle.

Jesus.

"Oh. Whatyouwant?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose, and still not sure that this was a good idea, I responded, "I need to know what's in Isabella's file."

"You what now?"

I took a calming breath, my palms feeling sticky against the phone. "I need to know what's in the file, Jay. Is it with you?"

"Her school file? The file you didn't want to see?"

"No, her FBI file. I've just discovered she's on the top ten most wanted list and I'm nervous about harbouring a damn fugitive!"

"Witty," he snarked. "You're about as much fun to wake up to as Vicky's Mom. Insane woman thinks it's perfectly acceptable to barge in and make the Goddamn bed while you're still asleep in it."

"Wonderful, happy for you all. Sounds cosy. Do you have the file?"

He yawned, obnoxious and loud.

I was bumping him from my Christmas list after this.

"I've still got it, it's at the office. Why?"

I felt my heart sink, the answers I was desperately seeking waving a smug and sudden _au revoir_. I'd have to see Bella before she left, still none the wiser.

"Edward?"

"Can you tell me anything without it?"

"I can give you the general gist. What's going on?"

I heard the water being cut off in the bathroom, signalling the end of Bella's shower. I didn't have long, not if I had any hope of clearing the air before we both set off for the day. "I'll fill you in later. Can I have the gist, quickly?"

"You know what time it is, right?"

"Yes."

I heard movement on the other end of the line as he rustled with his comforter. "Shit, I don't even know where to start. You know she was monitored at school. There were a lot of concerns raised about her home environment; Bella's teachers had a hard time trying to understand her. I think the general consensus was that she had a lot of emotional difficulties, she didn't connect with, well, anyone. She liked to be left alone. The schools had her teachers write up reports on her every month; she was a smart kid, but was incredibly detached and disconnected. Child Protective Services investigated twice, nothing came of it. She used to flip out if anyone ever touched her. As far I could tell there were never any signs of abuse, but they pretty much ignored her and she raised herself."

On and on and on he went, remembering sections of notes or documented circumstances that had taken place. Each and every sentence I heard and listened to felt like an ice-cold bucket of water being thrown over me. It was abuse. They may not have hit her, turned her skin black and blue, but it was abuse nonetheless. They had neglected her, ignored her, pushed her away and left her to fend for herself. An innocent little girl had been left all alone to grow up with nobody around and as a result, she now understood absolutely nothing about normal human attachment.

What the hell was wrong with these people? Did they think that by giving a loaded gun away, they couldn't be held accountable for the inevitable devastation when the trigger was finally pulled?

By the time James finished his retelling, my hands were shaking. But not from nerves, no, from rage. How could they?

"I want that file on my desk by lunchtime, I have to go." My tone was clipped as I pushed the end call button and threw my Blackberry… somewhere.

They'd made her feel like a nothing instead of showing her that she meant everything, and I couldn't comprehend that, couldn't deal with that.

I heard Bella's bedroom door open and close, followed by her light steps as she travelled downstairs. All I could do was pace. I paced and I thought and I tried to understand, all the while simmering over how much I wanted to _hurt_ those people. But perhaps most poignant of all, was how worried I now found myself regarding mine and Bella's relationship. How would she ever trust me, open up and allow me to care for her, with a past history like that? Just… _how? _I hadn't even read the file yet; there was more to come, more to learn, more to want to forget.

Minutes ticked by and I was no closer to an answer. I felt as though I was standing precariously close to a cliff's edge, in danger of toppling over and falling down, down, down into murky, unknown waters where foreboding, ghoulish things lurked in wait, creeping and crawling and claiming.

_Fight them off. _

I didn't know if I could. I didn't know if this was just so much bigger than I was capable of managing or not. An agreement once thought of as easy had now become riddled with difficulties and hardship.

_So make it better, make it right. _

But how? I had spent years trying to understand my sister, not that there was cause to make a comparison between her and Bella, but Rosalie was hard to identify with, she had deeply buried issues and nobody could ever get through to her. Not ever. I didn't want that to happen with Bella. I couldn't go through that torment again; I couldn't _not_ be able to help another recognised injured soul. I couldn't go through four years of trying, only to come to the end with no positive results. If Bella was hurting, I needed to reach out and heal the problems.

_Damn her parents! _

I had to try. Where they'd failed, I could at least attempt to succeed. I'd try for Bella. She deserved that much. What was I thinking, she deserved so much more.

Edgily, I walked toward my bedroom door and over the threshold, running through my newly stored arsenal of knowledge. I'd need to be careful, delicate, but firm too. She was stubborn, she wouldn't want to listen. I'd have to make her.

I descended the stairs slowly, one at a time, deciding on the best tactics to use. There was so much to cover, yesterday's royal fuck up included. The bathroom incident had left me bewildered. I'd known she was shy, but Bella was curious and ballsy too. I'd replayed her reaction relentlessly in my head, a young woman who'd taken the actions she had, flipping out in such an untamed manner over a mere naked body. But I think I understood it now. It wasn't just a naked body to Bella; I wasn't just some creep who'd picked her up on the internet. I'd treated her kindly; I hadn't pushed her or made any predatory advances toward her. I had treated Bella like an equal every step of the way and tried my hardest to begin laying the foundations of a relationship, instead of leaving things contractually detached. I'd made things more personal, more human. I'd made things intimate.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Bella didn't know how to react to intimacy.

As I reached the ground floor and walked toward the final staircase, I became increasingly nervous and unsure of myself. There were so many possibilities of rejection from her, and I wanted none of them. I just wanted her to be happy and content in life. I wanted the same for myself. Now I had a real fear of not being able to make that possible for either of us.

I slowly and quietly made my way to the bottom of the stairs, watching from the doorway as her tiny frame darted around the kitchen like a Tasmanian Devil, mixing up a bowl full of pancake batter.

_Fucking pancakes. _

I'd never look at them the same.

I heard the pan spit in the background while she poured a mound of fresh, fleshy blueberries into the mix. It was hard seeing her like this. She looked… perfectly fine. With everything I'd just been told and knowing that more was to come, I found myself struggling with my comprehension. Bella functioned incredibly well. I didn't know how that was possible. To look at her, beautiful and bumbling as ever, nobody would ever guess at the home life she'd had to endure all these years.

It made me fume.

"_Well, my mother used to tell me that I was a mistake."_

My, how well you wear that mask, Miss Swan.

_Make it right, Edward. _

Silently, I padded my way over to her just as she began ladling some batter into the pan and wrapped my arms around her, tightly. So very, very tightly.

She jumped instantly, gasping out a startled, "Jeez, Edward!"

I tightened my arms even further, almost crushing her. She fit perfectly. Her scent was intoxicating, a mixture of freshness from her shower, my shampoo and a sweetness that belonged solely to her. I buried my nose into her throat, having to talk myself out of just keeping her this way forever and forgetting all about the other issues that needed addressing.

I was vaguely aware of the pancake batter splattering onto my feet as she made a maladroit attempt at setting the bowl down, but my instincts kicked in enough to shove the crackling pan away, wary of the melted butter spitting at her. I turned the gas off, my actions forceful, almost angry.

Not a mistake.

_You could _never_ be a mistake. _

I wrapped my arm back around her slender waist and tried oh so hard to mentally channel my thoughts straight into her head. I needed her to understand. She had to understand.

"Edward, are you alright?" Her tiny hand found the top of mine, patting at it nervously, the way you would a stray dog you were unsure of.

My breath caught and trembled, fanning across her neck as my fingers clung to her firmly, almost desperately. I buried my nose within her luscious smelling locks and inhaled deeply, saving the scent and the soft, silky texture to memory.

_Please understand,_ I begged mutely.

Not a mistake.

The airport scene began to play on loop within my head. The way she had hugged me, it wasn't normal. It hadn't been an average greeting or a gesture of sweet thanks. It had been oddly calm. Her body simply melted into mine, almost as though she'd given up and yet at the same time, needed to cling to something or someone for reassurance. I thought I'd understood then, thought I knew what that seemingly small surrender had symbolised. But like most things involving this enigmatic young woman, I was finding that I really didn't have a clue. I'd had a basic enough understanding back at Newark, but I'd only just managed to fully grasp it, to comprehend that that hug had meant so much more coming from Bella.

I almost wished for my ignorance to return. This was all so disheartening.

I allowed my fingers to turn, to link with hers and squeeze all the reassurance I could into the hold for what I was about to say.

"You're not a mistake," I whispered, the hint of a plea lacing my tone.

She tensed, just as I suspected she would. Stepping in or around personal territory made her uneasy, edgy. She wasn't a talker and I couldn't blame her for it, especially not now.

"I-I know that," she finally managed.

I'd never been less convinced of any spoken words before. Never.

I flattened my face into her neck and closed my eyes, feeling her shudder beneath me.

"No, Bella. I don't think you do," I said desolately. "I don't think anybody has ever let you know just how remarkable you truly are."

And she was. New York's twinkling night skyline couldn't touch her light. For all the neglect she'd had to put up with, she still shone bright. I just wished she could see what I saw, even if it was only this once.

She shifted then, awkwardly trying to shrug out of my arms. I wasn't having it, she needed to be told, she needed to realise that I understood. I wanted to make it better.

"I don't think you have any inkling of your own self-worth." My nose glided down her lovely long neck until it met the material of her white shirt. I nudged it aside gently and kissed the little slice of skin available. So soft, so delicate. "I think you see yourself as above average intelligence and that's about it." I kissed the base of her throat. "I don't think you see how blindingly exceptional you are, inside and out."

She huffed then. "Edward, the pancakes?"

_Pancakes. Fucking pancakes – again! _

"Fuck the pancakes!"

_God almighty._

"I need you to understand, Bella." I implored quietly. "If I have to spend every second of the next four years re-conditioning the way you see yourself, I'll damn well do it. Do you know how much you've managed to tell me in just one sentence? Do you know how many puzzle pieces have just fallen right into place, because you finally let something slip out?"

James may have filled in a lot of gaps, solved a few of the riddles, but did she even understand what that one word, that one _awful_ word, had told me this morning? What it had driven me to finally do?

"You've just told me that your parents aren't the 'odd' people you claimed them to be, they're cruel. You've just told me that your adorable awkwardness isn't a factor of mere shyness, it's a result of eighteen years spent alone. You've just told me why you have such a fondness for reading; it stems from needing to replace important people in your life with happily ever after fantasy. You replaced people with books."

I kissed the outside of her ear, overwhelmed with emotion for the beautiful, deprived creature caged within my arms. I hadn't even had her here two weeks yet and already the swell of hurt I felt on her behalf was enough to cripple even the strongest of men.

I took a deep breath. "You've just told me why it's practically impossible for you to answer a simple phone call."

"I need to finish breakfast." She hastily reached for the bowl full of batter, only for me to snatch her hand back.

_Make her see!_

"I'm not trying to parent you. I'm not trying to be your keeper. I call because I care. I call because I need to know that you are safe and well. I don't function properly if I'm worrying. But you, Miss Swan, you've learned to function knowing that nobody _is_ worrying. And it's tragic."

"Edward, please just let it go." She begged, her voice full of melancholy. "I said I was sorry, it won't happen again, alright?"

She was breaking my heart.

"Yes it will." I kissed her cheek affectionately. "You can't help not answering when you don't expect the call, Bella. And sadly, I don't think you've ever expected it."

I turned her to face me, lifting her chin with my finger so that I could get lost in those big doe eyes, and brought her face closer to mine.

"I could quite easily choke her for damaging your heart, you know." It was honest, though it was an understatement. "I want to, so badly. People who don't appreciate the gemstones should never have access to the jewellers."

And she was as fine as they came, truly she was.

I placed a light kiss to her lips, feeling her breath catch and stutter.

"_I'm here_, Bella. I'm going nowhere and I will listen." I kissed her again. "You can always, always talk to me. Whether you choose to believe it or not, you have people here who care about you, sweetheart."

She blinked, confusion lighting up her eyes as she tried to process my words, seemingly with great difficulty. Everything inside me ached to watch her struggle this way.

"Sometimes I wish…" She started, but closed her mouth with an audible snap, looking almost fearful to continue.

My fingers deftly stroked her cheeks, her jaw, savouring the feel of the smooth skin beneath them. "What, Bella? What do you wish?"

_Talk to me. _

Her face flitted between decisions - to talk or not to talk. I could do nothing but wait, hoping and praying for an outcome that would move us past this and into more open territory.

Eventually, after much deliberation, "I wish you'd just be horrible to me sometimes!"

It was hurried, and the apparent horror that sprang onto her face immediately after told me that it was exactly what she'd be thinking, but hadn't meant to say. Her hand violently slapping across her mouth only served to confirm this thought.

My forehead creased as I pried finger by finger away from her lovely lips. "Why do you wish that?"

She closed her eyes, shutting me out. She hadn't meant to say it.

"Bella, why do you wish that sweetheart?"

She shook her head, her eyelids remaining tightly clamped together.

Just when I thought no answer would be awarded, she quietly responded, "Because it would be easier."

_My God, she was talking. _

"What would be easier?"

"Everything," she exhaled. "I wouldn't feel like I have to relearn what I've always known. I don't know how to be emotionally reliant on somebody, Edward. You're always so nice to me and it leaves me feeling torn between being obligated to feel grateful to you for everything you're doing for me and not knowing how to really feel it in the first place. If you were horrible to me, I could just stay detached."

I sincerely hoped in that moment, that I never, ever came into contact with either of her parents.

The only thing I could think to offer was a meek, "That doesn't sound like much of a way to live."

She smiled, a beautifully haunting, sad, sad smile, and opened her eyes to me once again. "But it's what I know."

_And I plan on changing that. _

"Sometimes change can be good."

"And sometimes it's frightening," she countered swiftly. "I'm trying to get used to you being the way you are and when you called yesterday you just sounded so mad at me."

My head tilted, my thoughts beginning to take shape and make some sense out of what she was trying to convey. "Is that what confused you, the switch in my demeanour? You didn't understand why I would be frustrated that you weren't picking up, because my worry for you is an alien concept?"

"Perhaps." She shrugged. "It's silly."

Silly my ass. To have her talking openly and honestly about how she felt, felt like a damn gift.

"How you feel isn't silly, Bella. Don't ever think that." I kissed her forehead, truly mesmerised by her.

Maybe there was some hope after all.

~*AComO*~

Hope.

Had I really left the house this morning, a mere few hours ago, actually feeling that?

Yes. Yes, I had.

Because she'd opened up, she'd shared, she'd responded to me. I'd chipped away until a positive result was facing me.

I was struggling to understand how that was even possible now, having read that file.

I wanted to burn it.

James sighed. "Edward, you realise this is good, right? This morning, that was a step forward."

"Sure it was, until its two steps back."

"Again, you can't think like that."

"I have to, Jay. Bella's got an emotional blueprint the size of a skyscraper, but her awareness sees nothing but a blank sheet of paper. She won't wake up tomorrow to find her problems have all been solved. It's just not that simple."

"It never is. But it sounds like there was progress this morning. A little optimism wouldn't kill you."

I stared at my friend, stared long and hard.

Optimism. Eight letters disguising that little four letter word.

Hope.

It was funny how you could desperately cling on to something while fearing the ever loving shit out of it, too, wasn't it?


End file.
